


Melancholy Heart

by stardust_and_sunlight



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Beauty and the Beast AU, F/F, classic disney stuff, fully based off of the live action batb, started writing it so long ago but finally here we are, warnings for canon typical near death experiences and drama, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-15 03:59:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16055105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardust_and_sunlight/pseuds/stardust_and_sunlight
Summary: When Cosette's father is held prisoner by a horrific Beast, what can she do but offer herself in his place? But she soon learns that there's more to this place than meets the eye, and the Beast isn't as bad as first thought.A Beauty and the Beast AU ft Cosette as Belle and Éponine as the Beast.





	Melancholy Heart

**Author's Note:**

> WELL. This is the longest fic I have ever finished (the longest anything I've ever finished) and I'm very proud of myself! To think it just started after I saw the live action BatB and thought "I want that but gay" and here we are. I'm not 100% happy with the ending and so I may come back and fix it, but I've just been working on it for so long without changing anything and I thought I might as well just post it!
> 
> Title from the song 'Evermore' from the movie.
> 
> Kudos and comments are very much appreciated! <3

“Cosette! Come in, dinner’s ready!”

Cosette almost leapt out of her skin at her father’s shout from the house. She’d been reading, deep in another universe, and it was always a shock to be pulled out of her book, back to the real world. She climbed to her feet, carefully closing her book and heading into the house. As she walked through their small, well-tended garden, she ran her free hand over the bushes and flowers that she passed, checking for dead leaves and growing blooms that she’d have to keep an eye on.

She loved her garden, and grew as big a variety of plants as she could- all sorts of flowers and vegetables and even some fruit trees, which were valiantly attempting to grow despite the somewhat sporadic good weather. Cosette was always on the lookout for new types of seeds and saplings, but there wasn’t much around here. She lived with her father in a small town, deep in the French countryside, far from the centres and the big markets and the busy places.

If you were to ask their neighbours about them, they would say that the middle-aged man and his beautiful teenaged daughter were polite and kind and nice- but they didn’t make friends. They kept to themselves, distanced themselves from the rest of the villagers. And that was all any of the villagers would have been able to say about them.

Cosette got lonely sometimes, but, well. It was best if they didn’t have much interaction with people.

She entered their tiny house, and inhaled deeply. Whatever her father had cooked smelled wonderful.

“Stew!” he said delightedly, and she grinned at him.

“It smells delicious,” she said, moving into the kitchen and gathering cutlery. “And I think there’s still some of that herby bread left.”

There was a brief flurry of movement as they set the table, Cosette’s father dishing out the rich beef stew, Cosette slicing the bread. And then there was silence as they took the first bites, Cosette almost moaning at the taste.

“It’s lovely,” she said, nudging him under the table with her foot. The table in the kitchen was small, only fitting their two chairs, dark wood worn light and smooth through years of scrubbing, but that was all they needed. “What’s the occasion?”

“I finally got round to fixing the butcher’s fence, and he gave me some cuts of meat as payment,” he explained, through a mouthful of bread. Cosette nodded in understanding. Cosette’s father worked odd jobs- he was good with his hands, and he was strong, so he mended furniture and built walls and did whatever needed to be done. And sometimes he accepted payment not in money, but in food, or cloth, whatever the villagers had lying about.

“And I found some nice wood that I can use to finish that chair I’m making for the mayor’s daughter,” he added, and Cosette smiled. Sure, he worked what needed to be done, but he enjoyed making things. Beautiful delicate furniture, carved with care and attention to detail. He’d learned from a carpenter in his youth, and he’d never forgotten.

It wasn’t enough to live on- not many people could afford the fancy pieces that her father made, and so he occasionally he would make the long trip to the bigger town, fifty miles away. Being so much larger, it was significantly busier, catering to people with more money to spend on intricately carved items. But he couldn’t go often, and it wasn’t enough on its own, and so he fixed fences.

And Cosette helped, more for something to occupy her time than through a desperate need for the extra money. She took in mending, she embroidered and she knitted and she enjoyed it, liked to create and to craft things she was proud of. But what she loved most was reading, and her father brought back new books for her whenever he travelled to the bigger markets.

She read everything- she read about the stars and the planets, learned medicine and cooking and gardening, read about herbs and history. But she loved fiction best. Loved going to another world, being transported to a far off place. She learned English, through children’s books, simply because there were good books in English. She read thrillers and mysteries, read adventures and romance.

She sewed and she read and she planted flowers. And she loved her father, and she loved their little house and her garden, and she loved her books, but it wasn’t _enough._

She wanted adventure. She wanted to travel the world. She wanted friends, she wanted romance. She loved her father, but she wanted _more._

But Cosette understood, and that was what made it hard. She knew why she and her father were here, in this sleepy town, why they kept to themselves. She’d coaxed the story out of him bit by bit over the years.

He’d stolen some bread, years and years ago, before she was even born. His sister’s children had been starving, and he’d stolen a loaf of bread, and he’d been caught, and he’d spent nineteen years in jail. Cosette knew less about this time in his life even than the rest of his life. Whenever she’d brought it up, his gaze had gone shuttered, his eyes filled with so much pain, and she’d quickly stopped asking. It was enough to know that he hadn’t recovered, and it filled her with a rage that she couldn’t articulate.

And when he’d finally been released from prison, he’d found that the world didn’t like ex-convicts. When he was turned away from job after job after job, checking in with his parole officer, showing his papers, marked with the brand of a criminal… When he was starving and ragged and hopeless, then a priest had taken him in, showed him kindness and compassion.

Cosette’s father had never told her exactly what the priest had said, but it must have impacted him immensely. After that, he'd turned back to a faith he'd lost, and he'd torn up his accursed papers and he'd started a new life for himself. Jean Valjean had left that name behind him.

He'd become mayor of a big town, and Cosette didn't doubt that he'd been a good one. And that was when he'd met Cosette’s mother. Her name had been Fantine, and she'd been lovely. Cosette’s biological father had run off before Cosette was born, and Cosette had been four years old, living with an awful foster family. She didn't remember them. From the hatred that burned in her father’s eyes whenever he mentioned them, she thought that that might be a good thing.

Fantine had been overworked and underfed and sick, and she'd been desperately trying to earn enough money to send to feed Cosette, and Valjean hadn't managed to save her. But he'd promised to protect Cosette, and he had.

He’d been the best parent anyone could have wished for, and she loved him dearly, and it didn’t matter that they weren’t biologically related. He was her father, and blood didn't matter.

Cosette was eighteen now, but Valjean was still a wanted man, and Cosette loved him, and they only had each other. So they lived here, in this tiny town, with false names, and they kept their heads down, and they were safe.

And as much as Cosette wanted to escape, she wouldn't do anything to endanger her father. She knew he still had nightmares about his time in the prison- he'd woken her up with his cries before, and he hated small spaces, and she knew he'd rather die than go back.

So she didn't complain. She read her books and tended her garden and she dreamed of far off places. She was content, and she was happy enough. But she wished for adventure.

***

 “I’ll be back in three days, and I’ll bring you a book,” Cosette’s father said, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he mounted his horse, a mare called Summer, who’d been with them for years and was practically a family member. She understood commands without being told them, and she almost knew the routes better than Cosette’s father did. Cosette ruffled her mane, and then stuffed a package wrapped in paper in her father’s saddlebag. He raised an eyebrow.

“I made you biscuits,” she said, grinning, and he smiled fondly down at her.

“Three days,” he promised, and then he was gone, the wagon hitched to the back of the horse, filled with things to sell at the market. It was almost a full day’s ride away, the town he was going to this time, and he would spend a day there, trading and selling before making the journey back.

And he would bring her a new book. He always did. Since the first time he’d had to ride away, and Cosette had been terrified he wouldn’t return. He’d looked her straight in the eyes, and promised her he’d be back, and he’d bring her a book. And he had. Every time since then, he’d brought her a book to add to her collection.

But even though she knew he would be safe, she still worried for him. He was stronger than anyone, she knew that, and he would be _fine,_ but she worried about him. He was all she had.

So for the three days he was gone, she busied herself with physical things to do around their little house. She cleaned from top to bottom- much easier to do when she was alone in the house. She weeded the garden, she fixed a wonky hinge on the gate, she did countless small things that she’d been putting off. She did the laundry, a task she hated, and she worked on a new cake recipe, a task she loved.

She sang and danced around the house, hating how much smaller it felt with only her there, and she barely avoided counting down the hours until her father returned.

But when dinner time passed on the third day, and the storm that had been looming finally broke, bringing gale-force winds and buckets of rain, and there was no sign of her father, Cosette grew worried. And hours passed, and night fell, and there was still nothing, nothing but the crash of thunder and lightning. She could hardly keep her eyes open, and tiredness threatened to overcome her, but she forced herself to stay awake, to stay lookout. To wait for him to return. Because she knew he _would_ return. He’d _promised._

***

Cosette woke up with a start, gasping from the shock, looking wildly around. She must have fallen asleep in the chair. It was dark outside, the storm raging on… and there was the frantic sound of a horse neighing. Cosette leapt to her feet, blanket falling to the ground, and ran to the door, slamming it open and flinching at the stinging rain.

There was their horse, Summer, her white coat muddy and her mane bedraggled. She was still wearing her saddle, but the leather straps that tethered her to the cart seemed to have been _cut._

Cosette couldn’t help the horrified sob that rose in her throat, but she stopped the tears. This wasn’t the time. Instead, she grabbed her cloak, and pulled on her winter boots, and she ran down the steps to Summer, soothing her the best she could, when she herself was certainly not feeling very calm. “What’s wrong, girl?” Cosette asked, hearing the tremor in her own voice. “Where’s Papa?” And although logic would tell her that Summer was a _horse_ and couldn’t possibly understand what she was asking, couldn’t possibly know where Cosette’s father was… Nevertheless, Summer was whinnying in distress, was tugging on Cosette’s sleeve… and Cosette didn’t hesitate.

She leapt up onto the saddle, hanging on tight, and Summer moved without Cosette urging her, broke into a canter- heading for the forest. Cosette didn’t need to steer, didn’t need to do anything but hold tight to the reins, and so her mind was free to wander, free to worry. As they headed deeper and deeper into the dark forest, they sped over ground so treacherous that Cosette feared for Summer.

They couldn’t have been riding for long, certainly not for more than an hour, but to Cosette it felt both like an eternity and a mere second. And throughout the journey, Cosette agonised, full of a deep, deep fear. She thought of all that could have befallen her father. Slipped in the rain, attacked by wolves, by bandits, found by the police…

Nothing could have prepared her for the gigantic wrought-iron gates that appeared suddenly out of the gloom, with trees growing near and over them, leaves obscuring the designs. The gates looked firmly closed, but as Summer butted her head against one, it opened without a creak, and she trotted through, into a huge garden, lit only by flashes of lightning, and she looked up to see a _castle._

A huge castle, with proper turrets and battlements and so many windows. There was an expanse of flagstone, almost like a courtyard, and there were majestic stairs heading to a giant, ornate door, and some of the windows were lit up, with a warm, welcoming yellow light, so at odds with the terror that thrummed through Cosette’s body.

There was a sheltered alcove under the main stairs, and Cosette dismounted, pushing an exhausted Summer away from the rain. “I’ll be back,” she murmured, and she fervently wished it was true.

She took a deep breath, and she thought of her father, and she climbed the stairs to the door.

***

Cosette wasn’t quite sure what she was expecting when she pushed at the door. For it to be locked, probably. For it to creak ominously, for it to be stiff and hard to move, for the room beyond to be gloomy and creepy and dark. She’d read so many books, and while she knew that by definition they were _fiction_ , she still rather anticipated some mysteriousness.

What she certainly didn’t expect was for the heavy door to swing open easily, or to emerge into a lovely big entrance hall, with tall ceilings and many candles, with a fire burning merrily in a grate. It was warm, and disconcertingly pleasant, and Cosette paused despite herself, bemused.

This was certainly very peculiar.

She crept forward, feeling an odd urge to tiptoe. Now she was here, she just had to find her father. Why would he have come here? She hadn’t even known that this castle existed- Summer had taken them down multiple tiny paths and overgrown routes, and so she could only assume that something had spooked the horse, and that she and Cosette’s father had gotten lost somehow. But then something must have happened to him- he wouldn’t have stayed, not when he was late, not when he knew Cosette was waiting. He must be being held against his will.

Where should she look? The castle had looked huge from the outside, and there were at least ten doors leading off this room, and a gigantic staircase to a higher floor. She felt the first stirrings of panic. She had to find him, but she had no idea where she should look.

And then she heard a noise, a clatter, like something metallic dropping onto stone, from up the stairs, and without any other options, she made her way up towards the noise.

The stairs lead up to a corridor, lit with more torches in golden sconces, and again a noise came from the distance, and Cosette followed the noise.

And she walked along the seemingly endless corridors, padding along carpeted floors as quietly as possible, passing an apparently infinite series of closed doors, following a strange noise that she couldn’t see, her sense of trepidation grew. She knew she could be walking directly into a trap, but she couldn’t bring herself to care, her worry for her father far outweighing her self-preservation.

And so she followed the noise, climbing a dizzying spiral staircase, emerging on a corridor dimly lit by a single torch attached to the wall, illuminating a cell door, and in the tiny, dark room beyond…

“Papa! Papa,” Cosette almost sobbed in relief, flinging herself against the bars and reaching through. “Papa, I’m here, I’m here, are you okay, are you alright?”

He was huddled in the far corner of the tiny cell, crumpled in on himself as if he’d collapsed, and Cosette pulled frantically at the door. The cell was small, _too small,_ and there was no window, and she had to get her father out.

“Let him out,” she pleaded, looking desperately around. Surely someone must be here, _anyone…_

“I will not. He has trespassed,” came a voice from the shadows, a husky voice, creaky from misuse. “He trespassed on my land, and he must be punished.”

Cosette rose to her feet, searching for the speaker. “What right do you have to take the law into your own hands?” she raged, hands clenched in anger. “What gives you the right to punish my father for-” But she broke off with a gasp, for the speaker had stepped forwards, out of the shadows, into the circle of light from the burning torch mounted on the wall… And Cosette stepped backwards instinctively, horrified.

The creature that stood there in the circle of light, the creature that was looking at her… It was not human. That much was obvious, but other than that…

It was tall, taller than her, and broad, and it looked like a bear or a wolf or, or, or… But Cosette couldn’t compare, couldn’t put a name to this, this, this _beast._ It had fangs bared in a scowl, huge curved horns, dark fur over a vaguely human shaped face- but it certainly wasn’t human. It stood like a human, and it wore human clothes, ripped and ragged over its huge form, fur visible through the clothes. But it wasn’t. It was… it was… a _monster._

And still it stood there, looking at her, horns catching the light, as if waiting for her to continue speaking.

“Let my father go,” she said, wincing at the tremor in her voice. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Let my father go!”

The beast snorted, and it was such a human noise that Cosette blinked in surprise.

“I will not,” it said. “He trespassed, and the punishment must be fulfilled.”

Cosette looked back into the cell, at the crumpled shape of her father, and the sight bolstered her, filled her with courage. “Fine,” she said boldly, staring directly at the beast, head held high. “Take me instead. Let me serve his sentence.”

The beast shrugged. “Very well,” it said, and stepped further forward. Cosette held her ground, and the beast drew a key from a pocket in the tattered jacket it wore, opening the door of the cell.

Cosette shoved past the beast, throwing herself onto her knees on the cold stone floor beside her father.

“Papa,” she said urgently, “Papa?” She gently rested a hand on his shoulder, and he seemed to become aware of her, looking at her with wild, terrified eyes. “Papa, it’s okay, I’m here.”

“Cosette,” he murmured, reaching up to clasp her hand with his.

“It’s okay, Papa,” Cosette said, unable to prevent the tears from falling. “You can go, and I’ll stay here, okay? A fair exchange.”

“No,” her father said, firmly, and she almost laughed, despite the situation. He’d spoken in the exact same tone when she’d asked to eat an entire cake, asked to stay up all night, asked to climb onto the roof.

“It’s alright, Papa, I’ll be okay,” she said, smiling at him. “Summer’s outside, she’ll take you home, you can rest up. I’ll be okay. I won’t leave you here. I won’t let you stay.” And she grasped his hand tightly. “You’ve looked after me my whole life. Please, let me do this.” But even shaky as he was, he still looked determined to stay, and she leaned in, wrapping her arms around him and whispering in his ear. _“I can escape,”_ she said, almost silently. “I’ll figure something out. Leave me here, and if I haven’t sent word in two weeks, then you can come storming back, okay?” And she felt the fight leave his body.

“Yes,” he said quietly, and she helped him to his feet, walking him the few steps to the cell door. He looked deep into her eyes. “I’m so proud of you,” he said, and then he was gone, and the beast was locking the cell door, and she was alone.

She stood there for a second, breathing heavily and heart racing in the sudden silence. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself. There was nothing else she could do tonight. There was no point in getting stressed.

She opened her eyes and looked around the little cell. Other than the torch on the wall outside, there was no source of light, but that was enough to see by. The room itself was square, about five by five paces, and as she’d noticed already, there was no window, which was extremely disorientating, giving her no idea of the passing of time.

There was no furniture other than a low wooden bed frame, and a lumpy straw mattress. There was a pillow and a ratty blanket, and the room was cold but not freezing. It wasn’t comfortable, but it certainly wasn’t the worst place Cosette had ever stayed.

Cosette sighed and lay down on the bed. She didn’t know how long she would be here, and so she would just have to get used to it.

***

Cosette woke up with a start, confused and discombobulated. She had no idea what had woken her up so suddenly, and sat up, glancing around warily. She couldn’t hear anything, but she was on edge, and not knowing how much time had passed only added to her disorientated feeling.

“Hello!” came a cheerful voice, and Cosette leapt to her feet so fast she twisted her ankle, retreating to the corner of the cell furthest from the door.

“Hello?” she said, hearing a tremor in her voice and cursing internally.

There was a scuffle from outside the cell, and then a small object landed in the circle of light. Cosette edged forward slightly, to see… a candlestick?

Cosette blinked. Standing there was a fancy gold candlestick, waving its two candles as if they were arms. And it had a _face._ And, apparently, it could talk.

“Hello!” it said, and Cosette let out a noise which could only be described as a shriek.

“What? I don’t? _What?_ ” Cosette stammered, and the candlestick laughed.

“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you! I’m the maître d’ here, and I’m going to try and make this stay as comfortable as possible for you! I’m Courfeyrac, and _this_ is Marius,” the candlestick said, gesturing to the side, and out walked… a clock. With little stubby arms, and the normal clock face, which had eyes and a nose and a mouth. A human face on a clock face.

“He’s the butler, but really he just follows me around and criticises everything I do,” the candlestick- _Courfeyrac-_ said, and the clock- Marius- made a spluttering sound.

“I wouldn’t need to criticise everything you did if you did things right,” the clock said snarkily, and Courfeyrac gasped dramatically.

“How _dare_ you,” he said, and then the conversation devolved into playful insults, an argument they’d clearly had multiple times before.

“Wait wait wait,” Cosette interrupted. “I still don’t understand. How can you talk? Both of you? How are you so, so… _human_?”

Courfeyrac and Marius exchanged a glance. “Well,” Courfeyrac said slowly, “we are human. Or at least, we were.”

“What?!” Cosette gasped, and Courfeyrac sighed.

“Yeah, we were all human. Me, Marius, a lot of the other _objects_ you’ll see around the castle.” And he said _objects_ with a bitter snarl to his voice. “And Éponine too, of course.”

“Éponine?” Cosette asked, racking her memory. She didn’t remember being introduced to an Éponine.

“You met her,” Marius piped up. Even in the short time she’d known them both, Cosette had got the impression that Courfeyrac was the spokesperson, doing most of the talking. She turned to look at Marius, and she marvelled as his little clock face flushed. How did that work? But this wasn’t the time.

“I don’t think I met an Éponine,” Cosette said, confused.

Courfeyrac smiled ruefully. “You wouldn’t have been introduced. Tall, furry, horns, fangs? Trapped you in this cell?”

“The _Beast?!”_ Cosette said incredulously.

“Come on, have you ever seen a creature like that before? No. Éponine was human. And she was cursed, and we were caught up in it, and we’re stuck like this until-” but Courfeyrac cut himself off.

“Until what?” Cosette asked, curious.

“No, it’s Éponine’s story to tell. You can ask her.”

Cosette scoffed. “You want me to talk to the terrifying Beast who captured my father?”

“She’s not that bad,” Marius said. “She just really doesn’t like trespassers. No-one’s come here in years, she wasn’t expecting it. She overreacted.”

“You’ll see her around, probably,” Courfeyrac added.

Cosette raised an eyebrow. “I’m kind of in a cell here? How will I see her around?”

“Oh of course!” Courfeyrac gasped. “That’s why we came here. We have the key, and we’re going to take you to your bedroom, and then to the kitchen. You got here very early in the morning and it’s evening now, so you must be hungry!”

Now that he mentioned it, Cosette realised that she definitely was. When was the last time she’d eaten? “I thought I was a prisoner?” She realised as she said it that she should probably just have accepted it, but luckily, Courfeyrac just laughed.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Courfeyrac said, leaping dramatically up to hang from the bars of the doors, and unlocking it with a flourish.  “That was just an intimidation tactic. You’re a prisoner in the sense that you can’t leave the grounds, but you’re certainly not going to be stuck in this dump. You can explore all you want- the only place off limits is the west wing.”

He jumped back down, opening the door and bowing. “Now come on. Dinner awaits!”

***

Cosette wasn’t quite sure how her night had turned out this way. Just an hour ago she’d been in a dingy, damp room with bars for a door, and now she was sitting at the head of a giant table in a huge, bright kitchen while crockery danced around her and a cheerful and motherly but very foul-mouthed teapot called Musichetta put more and more food in front of her. Courfeyrac was singing loudly and rather out of key, and twirling Marius until he fell over.

The food was lovely, and Musichetta had told her how glad she was to have a guest to be able to cook properly for- Éponine never wanted them to do anything fancy for just her, but Musichetta had been the head cook (still was, technically) and she missed preparing lavish meals for the fancy parties that the castle used to host.

Musichetta had told Cosette all about her life before the curse, and about what she did now. It wasn’t a bad life, she said. She still got to cook, after all, and that really was what she loved the most. And she didn’t have any family outside the castle, like some of the others did. She had two boyfriends _in_ the castle, Joly and Bossuet, who’d been transformed into feather dusters, and as long as the three of them were together, that was all that mattered to her.

Her voice did turn melancholy as she talked about how much she missed just _holding_ them, hugging them and feeling their arms around her, but she didn’t let herself dwell on it, instead leaping briskly around the kitchen and asking Cosette if she wanted tea.

Cosette declined as courteously as she could. She wasn’t tired yet, full and sleepy after her meal but not quite ready for bed, and Courfeyrac had told her she could explore the castle to her heart’s content, after all.

And so she did. She wandered from the kitchen through a vast ballroom, through sitting room after sitting room after sitting room, through a room filled with paintings, through bathrooms and bedrooms and more rooms than she could possibly count, and when she finally grew too tired to continue, she hadn’t even explored half of the castle.

Courfeyrac had already told her where her own room was, and so she walked in the direction she thought was right, finally being shepherded by two feather dusters who introduced themselves as Joly and Bossuet, Musichetta’s paramours. They were helpful and friendly and talkative, telling jokes and puns and finishing each other’s sentences- they were clearly inseparable, and they were happy. Even Bossuet, who told her ruefully that when human he’d been allergic to feathers, and was now allergic to himself, seemed to have accepted his situation.

They dropped her off at her room, after walking through a dizzying amount of near-identical corridors, and left her outside the door, bowing dramatically and scampering off. She laughed, shaking her head in amusement, and then pushed open the door and stepped into the room.

And gasped in astonishment.

She’d walked through bedrooms of all shapes and sizes, but this one. This one was _beautiful._ There was a huge four poster bed, old fashioned and ornate. There was a gorgeous dressing table with a mirror surrounded by a frame with such intricate carvings that she knew her father would love. There was a small bookcase and a bedside table and a wardrobe. Almost all the wood was light and bright and the bed covers and curtains were blue, and the ceiling was high, and the overall impression was one of space and light. There were three tall windows, and she could tell that in the daytime, they would let in so much natural light. But it was dark outside, and the room was lit by several lovely candelabras distributed throughout, the candlelight flickering as she walked in.

The room was beautiful, and at a stark contrast to the cell she’d been in just last night. Maybe she should have been worried, in this strange castle with the strange people, but she was pleasantly full  of lovely food and feeling very content, and she was tired. She shed her outer layers, and extinguished all of the candles bar the one beside the bed. And then she slid in between the covers. The bed was obscenely comfortable, and she was warm and cosy, and she blew out the final candle and was asleep within minutes.

***

Cosette spent the first few days that she was out of the cell in the garden. She’d missed being outside- she loved her little garden at home, and what she’d hated most about being imprisoned in the cell was the lack of windows, the lack of fresh air, the lack of _daylight._ It had only been one day, but that had been enough to let her know that she certainly didn’t ever want to go back.

And it also made her heart ache at the thought of her father, stuck in his worst memory. But she didn’t think about that too much. He was safe now, and that’s all that mattered.

So after a lazy breakfast on the first morning, with Musichetta fussing over her, and Bossuet and Joly cracking jokes and making puns, she’d headed outside.

When she’d first arrived at the castle, she’d came through these gardens, but she’d been riding through at top speed, and she’d been panicked, and it had been dark and stormy and hardly the time to appreciate the landscaping in the vast, sprawling gardens. But they were _lovely._

Open expanses of grass, bordered by flower beds. A great assortment of trees and shrubs and bushes. A riotous mass of flowers and weeds, growing higgledy-piggledy in beds, looking wild and free but also clearly looked after. Carefully pruned and shaped hedges. A vegetable patch, with rows of plants, all with little tags naming each vegetable. A herb garden, a rose garden, benches to sit on, climbing roses, trellises… This was a garden that was loved and cared for by someone.

And Cosette knew it must be the Beast.

Since her illuminating conversation with Courfeyrac (no pun intended) she’d been thinking about the Beast- about the girl called Éponine who’d once been human. And the more she thought about it, the more she realised that Éponine hadn’t really been terrible to her. Sure, Cosette had been kept prisoner, but she hadn’t been harmed, and while the Beast had growled at her, it- _she-_ hadn’t been cruel, or overly vicious. And so Cosette thought, and wondered.

***

On the morning of her third day as a strange prisoner, as Cosette wandered through the garden, looking at the love that had been poured into this garden, she was wondering and thinking about the Beast, and that was why she almost had a heart attack when she rounded a corner and there the Beast was, walking towards her.

“Good afternoon,” the Beast said formally, voice deep and gravelly. Cosette simply nodded, still too startled to speak.

“I have something to show you,” the Beast- _Éponine-_ said, and Cosette looked up at it- _her_ \- in surprise.

“Me?” Cosette asked, and Éponine snorted, sounding very human.

“Yes, you,” she said brusquely, and then turned away, striding back to the castle without checking to see if Cosette was behind her. Cosette followed, curious.

Éponine led her to a part of the castle that Cosette hadn’t yet explored, pushing open a set of double doors that were at least taller even than Éponine, and she beckoned for Cosette to enter. Cosette stepped over the threshold and gasped, bringing her hands to her mouth.

It was a _library._ A huge library, the ceiling far overhead. There were windows everywhere, high, arching windows, letting in natural light that made all the wood glow. And there were _so many books._ Hundreds upon hundreds, on so many shelves, shelves that reached up so high that Cosette could see ladders resting against them. There were comfy looking couches and reading nooks and tables and chairs and it was just _beautiful._

Cosette spun on the spot, eyes wide, trying to take everything in, drinking in every single detail.

“It’s amazing,” she breathed, turning to look at Éponine, who was watching her with a curious tilt to her head.

“You’re welcome to read any book you want, and read in here if you wish. I read in here often, so if you want to take the books elsewhere, that’s fine too, just make sure you put them back where you got them, okay?” Éponine said, with a forced air of casualness in her gruff voice.

“Thank you,” said Cosette, still awestruck. “How many of these books have you read?”

“Lots,” Éponine said, “I’ve been stuck in here for a while, and there isn’t much else to do. I’ve not read all of them, though. Some of them are in Greek.”

Cosette laughed, surprised by the noise, and by the joke in the first place. “Thank you so much,” she said, and she hoped Éponine could hear the gratitude in her voice.

She moved towards the nearest shelf, running her fingers over the spines of the books, before sliding a random on out of its place, sinking into a nearby armchair and starting to read.

***

Cosette spent most of the next few days curled up in a window seat in the library, working her way through a pile of books she’d gathered- some mysteries, some romances. The days were clear and bright, sun lit her throughout the day. She could even see the sunset from her chosen seat, beautiful and colouring everything pink.

Musichetta brought her wonderful food when she asked, and she ventured down to the kitchen for dinner each evening. Courfeyrac and Marius came by every so often to see how she was, and she’d finally gotten used to talking to them as the people she knew they were, despite their strange appearances.

She’d even been introduced to several other household staff turned animated objects. Gavroche, the chipped teacup she’d been so startled by at the start. Jehan, a wardrobe of indeterminate gender, who used to design and create outfits for the family. Enjolras, a lamp, who had previously been the official singer at balls hosted in the castle, and Grantaire, a piano who had been his accompanist. The two of them, Courf had secretly told Cosette, were engaged in some very intense flirting disguised as angry arguing, accompanied by aggressively played discordant notes. And Courfeyrac had told her of many more, people who had worked in the castle, all of whom had been inadvertently caught up in the curse that had been cast on Éponine.

And it seemed that they, too, would be stuck this way.

But Courfeyrac had refused to go into any more detail, simply repeating his previous statement- it was Éponine’s story to tell.

So Cosette read the books in her reading nook, and would have been fully content if not for her niggling need to know the truth, and how much she missed her father.

Eight days had passed since she arrived when she finally broached the subject with Éponine. Cosette had seen her every day since she’d started sitting in the library. Cosette liked the window seat she’d claimed as her own, liked to curl up with the book, and Éponine preferred to sit at a table, in a high backed and wide seated chair, carefully turning the pages with her clawed paws. They’d stayed separate, neither talking, both just reading their books in the peace of the library, but today…

Cosette had spent the morning building up her courage, and now she tentatively approached Éponine’s table, a book clutched to her chest as if it was a shield. Éponine hadn’t been violent to her since the first day, but still, Cosette was wary.

She cleared her throat, and Éponine looked up. Cosette suppressed a shudder. She still wasn’t used to Éponine’s human eyes in her monstrous face, with its horns and fangs and heavy brows.

“Umm,” she said awkwardly, uncertain of how to phrase her request. “I was wondering if you have a way I could send a message to my father? He might be worried about me.”

What she didn’t mention to Éponine was what she’d told her father as he’d left the castle- that if she hadn’t got in contact within two weeks, he should come and rescue her. She’d told him that she would try and escape, and she hadn’t attempted to yet. And she couldn’t explain why she hadn’t. She’d been given the freedom to wander almost all of the castle and the grounds, and she wasn’t supervised, and she could have left if she’d wished… but she hadn’t.

Maybe it was the books, the library, the parts of the castle she hadn’t explored yet. Maybe it was Courf and Marius and all the other animated objects. Maybe it was the mystery of the curse, or the humanity she sometimes saw in Éponine’s animal face. But she knew she didn’t want to leave, and she didn’t want her father to come here. And so she needed to send him a message.

“Oh, yes,” Éponine said, her gruff voice surprised. “There’s a place near the edge of our land to the north, where we leave money and get milk and eggs and other food stuff delivered. If you left a letter there, it would get to your father within a few days.”

Cosette closed her eyes, smiling in relief. “Brilliant, thank you so much,” she said happily, and Éponine nodded.

“Talk to Courfeyrac, he’ll get you something to write on, and tell you where to put your letter,” Éponine said, and then turned back to her book, conversation clearly over.

Cosette walked swiftly back to her window seat, replacing the book on the pile she’d accumulated. She needed to go find Courfeyrac.

***

After much searching, she came across Courfeyrac and Marius in one of the bedrooms, trying with limited success to put new candles in the high chandelier. Courfeyrac was dangling precariously from one of its gilded arms, and Marius was shouting unhelpful advice from the dressing table.

“Umm. Hello?” Cosette asked, stepping cautiously into the room. “Is this a bad time? I can come back…”

“Cosette!” Marius gasped, spinning to face her on his stout little legs, almost tipping over, his round little clock face beaming at her. She smiled at him. His crush was very obvious and rather endearing, if unrealistic. Courfeyrac made an audible and exaggerated sigh, and then leapt from the chandelier, landing with a muted thud on the bed.

He bowed dramatically. “How can I help you?” he asked.

“And me! I can help too!” Marius chirped, and Cosette laughed.

“It’s okay,” she said, “I just wanted to send a message to my father, and Éponine said you could get me paper and I could write a letter and leave it in the forest or something?”

“Oh yes, of course!” Courfeyrac said, jumping down onto the floor. Marius followed, much more carefully. Cosette considered, not for the first time, the practicalities of being transformed into an object with very little mobility. As a candlestick, Courfeyrac at least had limbs of a sort, but Marius, as a clock, only had stubby short legs, and had a much smaller range of movement. Although, she thought, they had had several years to become accustomed to it. On a related note, she wondered if they’d aged in their time as objects. She supposed they would only be able to tell if they were turned back to human beings, but she made a mental note to ask Courfeyrac later, and refocused on the situation at hand.

Courfeyrac was skipping to the door, Marius waddling along behind him, and Cosette followed, listening to Courf’s chattering, with an indulgent smile. Not for the first time, she felt like a parent, and had to resist the urge to make sure Courf and Marius weren’t going to fall over or something. After all, they were _older_ than her. Marius just gave off a sense of perpetual bemused befuddlement, and Courf had a childlike air of exuberance and optimism, despite the apparent hopelessness of their situation.

“…it took us a while to realise that we’d need to get supplies- we were planning a party, an event of some kind, I can’t remember the specifics, so we had enough to last, especially because Éponine is the only one to really eat. Plus, I think we were all vaguely hoping the curse would just wear off in time…” he broke off, and coughed. “Anyway. We realised we were going to need to have at least some contact with the outside world. There’s a man who lives in the woods just outside the land that belongs to the castle, he’s a hermit, only goes into the nearest village every so often. Obviously we couldn’t talk to him- I’m a candlestick, Éponine’s, well, a gigantic terrifying creature. So we left some money and a suitably threatening letter, which worked well. And we’ve been doing that since.”

While Courf had been rabbiting on, they’d been passing through corridors and halls, and they finally arrived at a small, dark room, with a writing desk, a globe, and other accoutrements that made it look just like an old-fashioned study, like she’d read about in books. Courfeyrac did a dramatic series of leaps onto the desk, which was made of dark wood, and stacked with paper and quills and inkwells.

“Go ahead and write your letter!” Courfeyrac said, beaming at her. “And then you can come find us, and we’ll leave it for our friend in the forest to deliver. For obvious reasons, we can’t let you leave the grounds,” he said apologetically. Cosette smiled.

“That’s alright,” she said, sitting down on the high backed leather chair, and running a hand over the vast selection of quills.

“We’ll leave you to it,” Courfeyrac said, and then he and Marius were gone, closing the door behind them. Cosette pulled a piece of paper towards her, and started writing.

_Dear Father,_

_I’m fine! No need to worry. I’m happy staying here right now- there’s a wonderful library, and I know it sounds strange but I’m being very well treated. I’ll tell you more when I next see you. I’ll send another letter when I can. Please don’t worry about me. I love you so much._

_Love, Cosette_

_P.S. If you have a chance, could you repot the hibiscus plant that’s on the windowsill? It needs to be moved to a bigger pot. Thank you, love you!_

***

The next few weeks passed in a surprisingly pleasant way. Cosette spent much of her time in the library, working her way through more books than she’d read in the entire rest of her life. She helped Courfeyrac and Marius around the castle, and Musichetta taught her how to cook her favourite meals. She watched Grantaire and Enjolras’ irritated flirting with amusement. She sent her father regular updates, and he replied when he could, updating her on what he was up to, and how her plants were doing.  And, to her astonishment, she started spending more time with Éponine.

It had all started with Cosette thanking Éponine for letting her send a letter. Éponine had looked at her askance. She seemed to have forgotten that Cosette was a prisoner, and to be honest, Cosette almost had too. With the freedom she was given… But she didn’t yet want to ask Éponine why she wasn’t allowed to leave. And as strange as it sounded, what she worried most about wasn’t that Éponine wouldn’t let her leave, it was more that Éponine _would_ let her leave. She didn’t dwell on this thought too long. She was just curious. That was all.

And since then, Cosette and Éponine had started _interacting._ At first, it had been simply greetings- when one of them entered the library, or left. And then, Cosette had begun asking for Éponine’s opinions on her choices of books. Éponine seemed to have read almost all the books in the library- apparently she could read both French and English, same as Cosette, and she was slowly learning Greek. And so, when Cosette finished a book, she would ask Éponine for a recommendation.

And then they started discussing the books that they were reading. Analysing them, criticising them. It was _wonderful._ Cosette had never really talked about books with anyone before. Sure, she’d often ranted at her father, but not discussions like this. Discussions like this _thrilled_ Cosette, brought her to life.

Éponine was intelligent and well-read with a dry wit and a sense of humour that often went completely over Cosette’s head, and she would realise what Éponine had said hours later. She wasn’t afraid to laugh at Cosette, to tell her when her opinions weren’t founded in logic or backed up with literature. She kept Cosette on her toes, made her exercise her intellect like she’d never had to before, and it was incredible.

As the days turned to weeks, and the weather got colder and the leaves on the trees faded from green to gold and orange and red, Cosette found to her astonishment that she was spending most of her time with Éponine. Sometimes they would read silently, but no longer at opposite sides of the room. Now, they sat near to each other, and showed passages from books that they enjoyed. And Cosette was trying to learn Greek as well, and she and Éponine were working together, using the limited English to Greek dictionaries to help them translate parts of the various Greek books.

Combeferre, an apparently winged dictionary who had previously been the librarian at the castle, had been helping them track down various reference books, but on the whole it was just the two of them. And despite her better judgement, Cosette had grown to like Éponine. She liked being near her, talking to her, working with her. They even talked about things other than the books in front of them-Cosette told Éponine of how stifled she’d been in the tiny village, how she’d longed to escape. Éponine told Cosette of how she’d locked herself away, scared that people would run from her when they saw her. She’d chosen self-enforced loneliness over the possibility of hatred, and Cosette’s heart ached for her, for the lonely Beast in the castle.

They hadn’t yet spoken of the curse, however. Cosette had brought it up a couple of times, but Éponine had always subtly changed the subject. But Cosette wasn’t in a hurry. She’d realised that she was happy here. She wasn’t in a rush.

***

“Why did you even take my father prisoner? If you try to keep people away?” Cosette dared to ask, one day when she and Éponine were in the library, translating a terribly complicated Greek text together.

Éponine shrugged. “I wasn't going to keep him for long, a couple of days at most, terrify him a little so he wouldn't come back, and then let him go,” she said. “But then you came,” she added ruefully. “And you were fascinating. You thought I was going to keep you forever, and you still volunteered to take your father’s place.” She sounded impressed, but then she continued, almost under her breath, a trace of longing in her voice, “no-one has ever done anything as selfless as that for me.”

“He doesn't like enclosed spaces,” Cosette said quietly, trying to bypass the surprising rush of emotions she’d felt at Éponine’s words, looking at the curly letters on the page in front of her.

“And had I known that, I would never have kept him for even a minute,” Éponine said seriously, and Cosette believed her.

“I was going to let you go, too,” Éponine said, after a moment’s silence, the only sound the scratching of Cosette’s pen.

“And why didn't you?” Cosette said, looking into Éponine’s eyes, the only remotely human thing about her.

Éponine looked away. “You can leave if you wish,” she said, an almost imperceptible tremor in her voice.

“I do not wish,” Cosette said quietly, and Éponine smiled, an expression which should be terrifying on her monstrous face, but somehow just _wasn’t_.

“Why not?” Éponine asked, and Cosette found that she couldn't answer.

And so they went back to their translating.

***

When Éponine finally told Cosette about the curse, it came as a surprise. They hadn’t been talking about it, or even talking about anything. Cosette had been reading a book of romantic poetry, eating a scone, freshly made by Musichetta, hot and delicious with the butter melting. She hadn’t noticed Éponine put down her book, hadn’t noticed her take a deep breath.

“The curse wasn’t entirely my fault,” Éponine said quietly, and Cosette’s head snapped up to look at her, the book falling closed on her lap. “But I have to take at least some of the blame.” Her voice was tight and wretched, and her paws were clenched.

“You don’t need to tell me,” Cosette said carefully, worried by the tension in Éponine’s dark eyes.

“I want to,” Éponine murmured, and any objections Cosette may have had vanished under the emotions thick in Éponine’s low, gruff voice.

“My parents were not nice people,” she began, and Cosette could see how hard this was for her to talk about. “They were cruel and selfish and greedy. They emotionally abused and manipulated me and my brother and my sister, but we were too young to get away. They blackmailed the owner of this castle, I’m still not sure how and I really don’t want to know, but they got the land and the castle and the title. I’m technically a Prince, or a Princess, I don’t know exactly,” she said, and laughed humourlessly.

“Anyway, we all moved in here, my parents and me and my brother Gavroche and my younger sister Azelma. My parents were so chuffed and so smug that they’d managed to take over the castle that it wasn’t terrible at the start. They were happy, and I was glad to be with my siblings, and it was such a big castle that we didn’t really ever have to see us. And we made friends with the staff, and they were sympathetic and helped us hide and it wasn’t a bad time. But then my parents got bored, and they started being cruel again. And they were so horrible to the staff, and we could hide from them but the staff- the _servants,_ really, couldn’t hide, obviously. And then Azelma ran away, and I wanted to join her, but I couldn’t leave Gavroche, and everything kept getting worse and worse. And then my parents died.”

Cosette hadn’t been looking at Éponine throughout this speech, giving her the space to talk, but at that last sentence her head whipped up. Éponine was grinning, fangs showing, and for the first time in weeks, Cosette was genuinely scared of her.

“They _died,_ and Gavroche and I thought we were free. They’d gotten sick and not recovered, died within twenty-four hours of each other, and the coroner called it natural causes, said it was just a freak illness, but we were sceptical. It seemed bizarre that they would have caught ill so close together, and that no-one else would have been ill, and that they would have died so close together. But we didn’t care. They were dead, and they’d apparently been unable to change the deeds of the land and so everything went to me. And it might seem callous but we were so glad that they were gone. If you’d known them, you’d understand.

We thought we were finally free, and we had a fucking party, a banquet, and we invited all the servants. It must have been a ridiculous sight, me, Gavroche, and all the servants, but we wanted to be better than our parents had been. We thought everything was going to change for the better. We were going to find Azelma, we were going to start paying the servants proper wages, make them actual _staff,_ we were going to be better.”

Éponine laughed bitterly, shaking her head, heavy brows drawn down over her eyes in a vicious scowl. “But then the witch came. An honest-to-god _witch,_ with a cape and a hat and a staff. We were just all sitting in the ballroom, eating this lovely dinner, and she comes in with this crack of thunder and flash of lighting and this ridiculous but _terrifying_ maniacal laughter, and she called out for our parents. _Monsieur and Madame_ _Thénardier_ _, I have come for you_ , and all that bullshit. And we told her, we told her they were dead, and she just shrugged. She didn’t care. I’ve been paid to deliver this curse, she said, and I’ll deliver it to you, as their descendant.”

She drew in a shuddering breath, taking a moment to compose herself. Cosette ached to comfort her, to run her hands through Éponine’s fur and see if it was as soft as it looks. She pushed down those thoughts. This wasn’t the time.

“I was terrified, obviously,” Éponine continued, voice shaky. “I’d been aware of magic before, of course, low-level magic is everywhere, but this witch was powerful and brutal and she was clearly determined to curse me, determined to do this job. And I was so scared, and I panicked, and I begged her not to, begged her to leave, to leave us be. And then she raised her staff to curse me, and I begged her not curse me alone. It’s my biggest fear, being alone.”

Éponine’s voice was thick with unshed tears. “She listened to me. And she didn’t just curse me, she cursed everyone. All of the servants who were only there because I’d asked them to be, people with families and lives, caught up in the curse because I was selfish. And Gavroche. My _brother._ And we don’t even know if Azelma is alive, because we can’t leave. If we try, any of us, we get a certain distance away from the land perimeter and then start losing our sense of self. Courfeyrac got a mile away once. He told me that his limbs started to go stiff, and he started to forget why he was there. We can’t leave. We don’t age, and we can’t leave, and the rose’s petals have almost gone…”

Éponine was weeping now, tears streaming down her face, clumping in the dense fur on her cheeks. She tried to say something else, but seemed to choke on the words, and Cosette couldn’t stop herself. She stood up, sliding onto the couch next to Éponine, and wrapping her arms tight around the Beast- the ‘Beast’ who was now Cosette’s friend, who Cosette trusted more than she’d ever thought she could trust someone. Éponine was taller than her, bigger and wider, and there was hard corded muscle under the fur, which was soft and smooth. Éponine tensed briefly, and then her whole body relaxed into the hug, and Cosette just held her tight and didn’t let go.

***

Cosette couldn’t have said what had changed after that, but _something_ had.  Éponine was less cautious with Cosette, less careful to not brush against her as they walked past each other. She would casually drop details from her past, when before she’d made absolutely sure not to. Little titbits about her brother and sister, about her parents, about her friends, her hopes and dreams and fears.

And in return, Cosette told Éponine all about her father, about what he’d gone through, about all he’d done for her.

“I miss him,” she said quietly, one day when they were sitting in the kitchen, eating dinner together. Musichetta and Feuilly, the chef turned stove, were arguing playfully in the background, and Gavroche was trading jokes back and forth with Bahorel, the coat rack who seemed to mostly just loiter around. It was familiar, and peaceful, and lovely, but it had been over a month since she’d seen her father and the letters, while wonderful, weren’t enough.

Éponine waited til they’d finished their dinner before standing, and beckoning with a claw. “Come with me,” she said, “I have something to show you.”

“Of course!” Cosette said, leaping to her feet and then blushing at her own enthusiasm. Éponine beamed at her, fangs not scary anymore, and Cosette’s embarrassment faded.

“This way,” she said, glaring at Musichetta, who’d muttered something to her with a grin.

“What did she say?” Cosette asked curiously, as they left the kitchen.

“Nothing,” Éponine said shortly, almost snappish, and Cosette fell silent, following Éponine without another word.

They passed through the castle, and Cosette bit down on her questions. There was an almost palatable tension rising off of Éponine, and Cosette didn’t want to upset her.

“I’m sorry,” Éponine said brusquely, suddenly. “That wasn’t fair to snap at you. I’m just stressed. Musichetta was teasing me, but we’ve talked about it before and she knows that it’s not a subject I want to be teased about. I’m sorry.”

“That’s quite alright,” Cosette smiled up at her, relieved at the break in the silence. “Where are we going?”

“To the west wing,” Éponine said quietly. “To my private quarters. There’s something there I want to show you.”

Cosette couldn’t hide her surprise. Courfeyrac had told her that even the staff weren’t allowed in Éponine’s quarters, that she was very particular about her things, and while Cosette had been given free range of the castle, she had been warned to stay away from here, and she’d respected Éponine’s privacy.

They walked the rest of the way in a much more comfortable silence, Cosette almost bouncing with anticipation.

There was no dramatic lighting change as they entered the west wing, nothing at all to show the gravitas of the situation, just a slight increase in the dust levels.

“I only use a few rooms in here,” Éponine said, seeming to want to say _something._ “I spend most of my time in the library, or in the kitchen or the garden. But there’s something… something I need to see, but I don’t want to see it…”

Cosette blinked, confused.

“It’ll make more sense when I show you,” Éponine said, and pushed open the grand doors at the end of the corridor.

Cosette’s first impression was one of darkness, the second of neglected splendour. Éponine quickly lit some lamps, and gradually Cosette was able to make out more details. A bed, a dresser, the normal bedroom things. A bookcase, armchair, a table piled with books, that made Cosette smile.

But Éponine was walking with purpose, quiet despite her size, crossing the room and opening another door, beckoning Cosette to follow.

And so Cosette did, walking into another, much smaller, much plainer room, which opened onto a balcony, the windows open, the curtains blowing in the breeze.

This room was bare, stone floor and no decorations on the walls. Bare except for a table in the centre of the room, and on that table was something strange.

A single red rose, in a glass case.

“What-” Cosette said, moving to get a closer look. There was no soil, no roots, just the one cut rose. “How is that alive? How did this happen?”

“Magic,” Éponine said simply, resting her paw carefully on top of the glass. “Magic made it, and magic keeps it alive.”

“But it still looks like it’s dying,” Cosette said, and it did. Many of its petals had fallen off, lying at the bottom of the glass, and it looked wilted and sad.

“It is,” Éponine said, and her voice was twisted with an emotion Cosette couldn’t identify. “The same magic that cursed me, that cursed us, that same magic made this. And if the curse isn’t broken by the time the last petal falls, we’ll be stuck like this forever.”

Cosette’s mouth fell open in horror. “Well then, how do we break the curse?”

Éponine smiled weakly. “I can’t tell you that,” she said, and then she raised her hand as Cosette tried to speak. “Please, please don’t ask me again. I can’t tell you.”

“Of course,” Cosette said, and Éponine bowed her head.

“That’s not what I wanted to show you, though,” Éponine said, clearing her throat, opening the drawer underneath the table and pulling out an ordinary-looking hand mirror. “This is.”

Cosette blinked at it, and Éponine laughed wryly. “It’s magical, of course. You simply look into it and say the person you wish to see, and it shows you them. Do you want to see your father?”

Cosette nodded frantically, overwhelmed with gratitude. She could see her father.

Éponine handed the mirror to Cosette, and Cosette wrapped her hand around the metal handle, looking at her own reflection. “Show me my father,” Cosette whispered, and her reflection dissolved, twisting and changing until her father was there, looking tired and drawn as always but there, he was _there,_ as real as if she was looking at him. She couldn’t stop her sob of relief as she reached out a finger to touch the surface of the mirror, touch her father’s face… and then she recoiled in shock as the image drew back, showing her father’s surroundings…

And then she gasped in horror. Because her father was in _chains,_ and there were officers of the law surrounding him with guns, and before him was stood a man with a plumed hat, looking down at her father with scorn. Cosette had never seen Javert, but she knew with a cold rush of certainty that this was him.

The mirror fell from her frozen grasp to land on the table with a clatter, and she looked up at Éponine with shock, and she could see from Éponine’s eyes that she’d seen it all.

“You have to go,” Éponine said roughly.

“What-”

“You have to go to him,” Éponine said, gesturing to the door. “Go to him. He needs you. Go!”

And Cosette didn’t hesitate, ignored the sadness that pulsed in her heart at the thought of leaving the castle, of leaving Éponine.

Her father was in danger.

And so she ran.

***

She hadn’t been running for long when she realised the absolute idiocy of her actions. It was dark, and cold, and the woods were unfamiliar, and she was lost almost immediately. She sobbed, a broken noise of terror and bitter anger at her own stupidity.

And then, of course, it started to rain.

She looked about, looking for a clump of trees, anything to shelter under, and then realised two things in very quick succession.

Firstly, in her frantic dash from the castle she’d left whatever minimal path there had been. Secondly, there were wolves in these woods.

And the wolves were here.

Glowing yellow eyes appeared in the shadows, and a growling started which gave Cosette chills down her spine, a growling that grew in volume as more eyes appeared, amongst the trees all around her.

Cosette let out a shuddering, gasping breath, spinning slowly, looking for a way out, backing up until she felt the bark of a tree on her back. But there was nowhere to go. She was trapped, surrounded. She was going to die surrounded by wolves, and her father was going to go to jail, he would die there alone, and there was nothing she could do, and there was no-one to save her.

The wolves were getting closer, and she could make out their details, the dark fur and raised hackles. She felt a silent tear trickle down her face, and cursed her own recklessness, her idiocy.

The tone of the growls changed, as the wolves readied themselves to pounce…

And then someone came running through the forest towards them, brandishing a flaming torch and yelling loudly. The wolves froze, and the person ran straight to Cosette, through the wolves without hesitating, swinging the torch near the wolves. They howled, terrified, nothing left of the snarling, deadly animals from just a moment ago, and then they fled, yelping, tails between their legs.

“Thank you,” Cosette gasped, letting out a shuddering breath, turning to the person beside her, as they raised the torch higher, illuminating their face. It was a woman, middle-aged, with black hair tinged with grey, and wrinkles on her face that didn’t detract from a tired beauty.

“The wolves are hungry at this time of year,” the woman said quietly. “You shouldn’t be out alone at night.”

Cosette refrained from saying that the woman was out alone at night. She had kind eyes, but her body was held in a stance that suggested she could run or fight at a moment’s notice. And she had saved Cosette’s life.

“I have to get to the village,” Cosette said, some of her urgency and fear for her father returning, now she was no longer fearing for her own life. “My father, he, he’s been arrested. He’s going to be sent to jail, but he didn’t do anything. Well, he did, but he was punished unfairly and he ran away but I know he ran away for me and I _can’t_ let anything happen to him…” She realised she was rambling, her voice high and frantic and trembling, and she shut her mouth with an audible snap.

The woman was frowning at her. “What’s your father’s name?” she asked, and there was a tremor in her voice.

Maybe that was why the name Cosette gave wasn’t the one her father went by now, but the one he’d left behind. “Jean Valjean,” she said, and the colour drained from the other woman’s face.

“Do you know him?” Cosette asked, but it was clear from her face that she did.

“I did. He… he did me a great service, in the past. I owe him a debt.” She took a deep breath, and straightened up. “My name is Fantine. I have a horse. I’ll get you to your father.”

“I’m Cosette,” Cosette said, and the woman’s face twitched almost imperceptibly. But Cosette didn’t have time to puzzle out this strange woman. She had to save her father.

“This way,” Fantine said, and took off at a brisk pace, her torch lighting the way through the dark forest.

***

The ride through the forest passed in a blur of dark trees and sharp wind, the horse riding faster than seemed possible, through the cold night and out of the forest, across the fields until finally, after what seemed like an age, the lights of the town appeared in the distance, torches lighting streets and houses.

But as they neared the town, Cosette could hear a clamouring from the centre, from the town square, and without her saying a word, Fantine was steering the horse towards the sound.

The crowd was more like a mob, torches lit, faces twisted, and Cosette felt a rush of panic, jumping off of the horse as soon as they reached the edge of the square.

“Excuse me,” Cosette said, trying to see through the crowd, but it was like a living thing, moving as she tried to get through. She knew her father was at the centre of the crowd, could hear a police officer shouting at the crowd, but she couldn’t get through.

“Please, please,” and she felt the tears start to fall as she shoved her way forward, felt the emotions that she’d suppressed on the ride, felt the terror and the anguish and the guilt, always the guilt. And then she heard a yell that she would recognise as her father anywhere. And he was in pain.

“Papa! Papa!” Cosette sobbed, pushing through the mass of people. Fantine had vanished behind her, but all she could see in that moment was her father, on his knees beside a prison cart, chains around his neck and wrists and ankles.

“Papa, no,” she said, voice broken and twisted, as she fell to her knees beside him, thudding painfully on the stones. “Please, no,” she begged, looking up at the police officer who loomed over them.

_Javert._ The man who had haunted her father’s past, who followed the law so rigidly that he would never allow her father to escape. He was shorter than she’d imagined, older, face more lined, but he stood straight, and his uniform was pristine. “Please,” she whispered.

The man looked down at her, face stony. “Who are you?” he said, but Cosette’s father spoke up before she could.

“This is my daughter,” he said, voice hoarse. “I told you. My daughter, the girl I left to save,” and Javert’s face twitched at his words.

“These lies again, Valjean, they will do you no good,” he snarled, and her father took a deep, shuddering breath at the sound of the name.

“I was telling the truth,” he continued, and his voice was calm, except for a pleading undertone that Cosette thought perhaps only she could hear. “I was telling the truth then, and I am telling the truth now. I left to save her. I told you the truth, I swear-”

“Silence!” Javert snapped, but he seemed unsure.

“All I ever did was steal some bread, bread to save a dying child, and I served my time, I served more than enough-”

“You broke your parole-”

“What hope was there for me otherwise-”

“The law is to be obeyed! There are no exceptions, Valjean, not even for-”

“Surely you cannot believe that men are infallible-”

“Silence!” Javert yelled, and the sound echoed in the suddenly silent square.

“I left to save her. I would have faced justice the second time, I would not have hurt you, but her family had died, and she had no-one else. I had to save her,” Cosette’s father said quietly, sounding desperate. “I never lied to you. Please. Please don’t make me leave her. She’s the best thing in my life.”

Javert turned to look at her, and Cosette was aware of her muddy and torn dress, the tears streaming down her face, the tangles in her hair.

“You were telling the truth,” Javert murmured, almost under his breath, and there was confusion in his eyes.

“I always was,” her father said, looking his captor straight in the eyes.

Javert looked uncertain, unsure, wrong-footed, but he rallied, straightening his stance and glaring down at Cosette.

“Where have you been?” he said, clearly trying to regain control of the situation. The crowd around them had turned restless. They’d wanted drama, wanted excitement.

Cosette blinked up at him.

“Where have you been?” Javert repeated, his eyes boring into hers. “I’ve been in this town for a week, and you have not been here, you have not been with your father. Where have you been?”

Everything had happened so fast that Cosette didn’t even think to lie. “I was at the castle,” she said, the words coming out as one. “I was at the castle, I’ve been staying at the castle, I was-”

“Castle?” Javert said, frowning, and then he turned to one of the men beside him, a tall thin man who Cosette vaguely recognised as the local policeman, who doubled as the butcher, and who looked uncomfortable in his uniform, shabby and uneasy besides Javert’s stiff lines.

“There’s no castle anywhere near her,” the man said, looking confused. “I don’t…”

He glanced helplessly at the people in the crowd nearest him, and they looked blank, but there was an undercurrent of something there. A susurrus ran through the crowd, and it seemed like a memory was being uncovered, somehow.

“The castle,” a woman near Cosette murmured, and understanding dawned over her face. “There was a castle.”

“I remember now,” the policeman said suddenly. “About an hour’s walk, through the woods, a castle, it’s always been there. How did I forget it? It’s always been there…”

“The spell,” Cosette said, something clicking. “The spell must have somehow removed it from their memories,” and Javert turned to her.

“What spell?” he asked, and she spoke without thinking.

“There was a witch, who cast a spell on the castle, turned Éponine into a beast and the staff into objects, and it must have made everyone forget as well, and-”

But Javert’s face had twisted with anger. “A _beast,”_ he snarled, and Cosette realised what she’d said.

“No, she’s-”

“Magic has caused this beast, and we must kill it!” The crowd, who had fallen silent with confusion and the resurgence of hidden memories, stirred at his words.

“No!” Cosette said frantically. “She’s not harmful, she’s not-”

“Silence!” Javert said. “Valjean, I will deal with you later. This girl has obviously been hoodwinked by this beast. Lock them both up,” he said, gesturing to the men standing beside him. “The rest of you! With me! You know the way?” And the policeman nodded, and Javert smiled grimly. “Then let’s go.”

“No!” Cosette screamed, horrified by the quick turn of events. “No, you can’t! You can’t!”

“Don’t worry,” Javert said, with a smile that was probably supposed to be comforting. “We’ll kill this beast, and free you of its spell.”

And he nodded at the men, who grabbed Cosette’s arms, pulled her to her feet as she kicked and flailed, desperation giving her strength, but it wasn’t enough.

She and her father were dragged away, dragged to the prison cart and shoved in, and the last thing Cosette saw before the doors slammed shut was Javert, face tight and determined, leading the mob towards the woods.

Then they were in darkness.

***

“No no no no no,” Cosette said, the words coming out as sobs. She slammed her whole body against the door, but while the cart rocked, the door didn’t budge, and she fell back to the floor, shoulder aching. “No!”

The cart was old, small, barely tall enough to stand in, and while the walls weren’t terribly sturdy, and the door was made of spaced slats, there was a padlock on the outside of the door. She’d never be able to burst through.

“Cosette,” her father whispered, and she spun towards him, seeing him crumpled on the floor as her eyes grew more accustomed to the dark.

“Oh, Papa,” she said, kneeling down beside him. She’d cried so much in the past few hours, fear and terror and she thought she was cried out, but here came more tears, seeing her father looking so weak, wrists and ankles rubbed raw from the manacles. “We need to get these off.”

“I can tell you what to do,” he breathed, pain in his voice. “It’s just another mechanism, like that clock you helped me fix, remember?”

And Cosette did remember, remembered dismantling the clock and reassembling it, figuring out how it all worked and how the pieces fitted together.

“Do you have something thin, sharp, metal?” her father said, and Cosette felt in her pockets, her hair, face lighting up as she found a pin in her hair, holding up a bun which had almost fallen out by now, with all the running and riding. She pulled all the pins out, shaking her head until her hair settled around her face, tangled and dirty.

“Yes, I have pins,” she said, and her father smiled, a faint smile, but a smile nonetheless.

“I’ll talk you through freeing my hands, and then you get the door, and you go take Summer and save Éponine, alright?”

Cosette froze, pins clasped tightly in her hands. “No, I can’t leave you again-” But then she thought of Éponine, of the mob, of Javert.

“I’ll follow you,” he said firmly. “I’ll find another horse. But you have to hurry.” He sounded so much like his old self that Cosette stifled another sob, and then pulled herself together. She had something to do.

Her father was a good teacher, and she soon had him free, and then she carefully reached through the slats of the door. This padlock was much more complex, but she was good with her hands and the adrenaline was coursing through her veins, and soon the padlock fell to the ground with a clatter.

Cosette cursed under her breath, and then glanced back at her father, who was using one of the pins to unlock the chains on his feet.

“Go,” he said urgently. “Go!”

And so she did, pushing the door and hitting the ground at a run, finding more reserves of strength as she sprinted towards their house, the house she hadn’t seen in weeks.

***

Summer whinnied when Cosette ran towards her, and Cosette grinned despite the terror of the situation. She hadn’t realised how much she’d missed the horse.

“Come on, girl. We’ve got to go,” Cosette whispered, stroking the horse’s nose gently. “We gotta go save Éponine.” Cosette pulled the saddle over Summer’s broad back, and leapt up into it. Summer barely waited for Cosette to be settled before she was cantering towards the fields, towards the woods, towards the path they’d followed all those months ago,

Cosette had been racing to save her father from an unknown fate, then. And now she was going to save someone who she never thought she’d care about as much as she did now.

They sped through the woods. Once again, Summer seemed to know exactly where she was going. All Cosette had to do was hang on, and hope that she could beat the mob there. They’d had a head start, but they’d been walking…

But then Cosette and Summer came to the gates of the castle, which were broken down and falling off of their hinges, and Cosette gasped, urging Summer on, up through the beautiful gardens, the only light coming from the moon, and from the candles in the castle, and from the torches of the mob on the courtyard, on the stairs.

They were battering the door, making no perceptible difference against the thick, strong wood, but they were angry and fuelled with rage, and there were so many of them. They would get in eventually, and Cosette thought frantically of the fragile crockery, of Musichetta and of Gavroche. She thought of Courfeyrac and of Marius, how small they were, how easily damaged. And she thought of Éponine, who was strong and powerful but was still mortal, who could still be hurt…

Cosette jumped off of the horse, stumbling as she landed, bursting into a run, to the courtyard full of people. She could see Javert, standing back from the chaotic yelling, with a loaded crossbow in his hands. A _crossbow._ Cosette gasped, the enormity of the situation hitting her suddenly. He was going to try and kill Éponine.

She started running towards him, not sure what she would do when she got there, but then, suddenly, there was an almighty crash as the door fell in, and the mob let out a cheer, starting to flood into the castle… and then there was a howl, and the people started screaming, yelling, and Éponine burst out through the crowd, swiping wildly.

“Éponine,” Cosette gasped, and Éponine roared, hitting out at the crowd around her and then leaping over their heads, landing on the flagstones of the courtyard, hackles up, fur ruffled, and she roared again. She was drawing the crowd away from the castle, Cosette realised, drawing them away from the staff who couldn’t fight back.

But she was closer to Javert, and Éponine hadn’t seen him, fixated on the crowd as she was, but Javert had seen her, and he was raising his crossbow. Cosette put on a burst of speed, but she wasn’t going to get to him in time, and he was sighting through the crossbow.

“Éponine!” Cosette yelled, her heart in her mouth as she saw Éponine roar, teeth bared, claws out. “ _Éponine!”_

And Éponine heard her. Somehow, Éponine heard her, and she paused, and she turned, looking straight at Cosette…

And then the crossbow fired, and Éponine let out a howl of agony, and fell to the ground. Cosette screamed, and ran, shoving her way through the crowd, shaking off the people who tried to hold her back, running towards the still figure on the concrete floor. Too still.

Cosette threw herself onto the ground towards Éponine, frantically trying to staunch the bleeding, trying to do something, do _anything._ But it was too late. It was _too late._

She could hear the crowd cheering behind her. _The Beast was dead!_ they  were cheering. But Cosette’s heart was breaking.

She could see Courfeyrac coming out of the castle, out of the corner of her eye. Marius, Musichetta, _Gavroche…_ They were coming to see Éponine. _Éponine._

Cosette could feel her tears thick on her cheeks, as she hugged Éponine tightly to her. Éponine’s fur was matted with blood, and she was so still.

The castle staff were ranged around her, and although they couldn’t cry, they were all unmoving, frozen with horror and grief.

“What would have broken the curse?” Cosette choked out, turning to look at Courfeyrac, who was gazing at Éponine with an expression of utmost despair. “There’s no point in keeping it a secret anymore. Please. Please tell me…”

Courfeyrac looked up at her. “She had to love someone,” he said hoarsely, and then cleared his throat. “She had to love someone, and have them love her in return,” and his voice broke.

Cosette turned back to look at Éponine’s still face, at her fangs and horns and fur. Her eyes were closed, but Cosette knew that they were beautiful, human in her monstrous face.

“But I love you,” Cosette murmured, and here came the tears, falling fast, landing on Éponine’s face. “I love you,” and Cosette couldn’t stop crying, sobs wracking her body as she crumpled over Éponine’s lifeless form. She could hear the staff wailing, and her grief was deep, and she cried.

And then there was a strange noise, like the twang of a tuning fork, and then there was light, pouring from Éponine’s chest. Cosette stumbled back, away from the body, as this warm yellow light covered Éponine, sinking into the wounds and dissolving into her fur and Cosette blinked in astonishment, tears dying at the beauty before her.

There were gasps from all around her, but she couldn’t drag her eyes away from Éponine, as the light grew brighter and brighter until it exploded out, too bright, enveloping Cosette so she had to close her eyes tight with a yelp of pain, throwing her hands up to cover her face.

And when she opened her eyes, blinking away black spots, squinting to get a glimpse of Éponine’s body, she saw an incredible sight. The light was dancing around Éponine, and she was _dissolving._ Her fur was melting away, and Cosette bit back a sob. This wasn’t fair. The curse had taken everything from Éponine, and now it was taking away Éponine’s body. There would be no funeral, no memorial, nothing to bury and grieve and mourn. It wasn’t _fair._

But the light hadn’t finished, and Cosette’s breath caught in her throat as, right before her eyes, the body of the Beast transformed into the body of a _girl_ , a human woman, and then the light finally faded, and she _breathed._

“Éponine,” Cosette whispered. The girl was tall, Cosette could tell even when she was lying down. Taller than Cosette, and much more slender. Her skin was dark brown, almost the colour her fur had been, and her hair was black, in a curly mass around her head. She was wearing the clothes she’d been wearing as the Beast, and they were torn and bloody and far too big for Éponine’s human body, and her chest was expanding in and out with every breath. She was _alive_ and she was _human._

“Éponine!” Cosette said, louder, heart pounding like it would burst from her chest, and she threw herself onto the ground next to Éponine (it was Éponine, she was alive, she was _okay_ ), knees thudding hard on the concrete.

“Éponine,” and it came out like a prayer, like a blessing, just one word. “Éponine, Éponine, Éponine,” a litany of sounds, a chant, and Cosette was distantly aware that she was crying again, but it didn’t matter, because Éponine was opening her eyes, and looking at Cosette. She was looking at Cosette with the same eyes that had looked at Cosette from the face of a Beast, the intelligent and emotional and caring eyes that Cosette had fallen in love with.

“Cosette?” Éponine said, and her voice was hoarse from misuse, but soft and husky, deep and quiet. “Cosette, what happened, how…” and then Éponine seemed to realise that she was human, and she gasped, sitting up shakily and looking in amazement at her body. “The curse, how…?”

And she turned to look at Cosette, and Cosette smiled through her tears. “I love you,” Cosette said simply, and then Éponine was crying too, and reaching blindly for Cosette, and Cosette was wrapping her arms around Éponine, feeling her body shake as she murmured it back.

“I love you too, Cosette, I love you, I love you…”

***

Cosette wasn’t sure how long they stayed there, holding each other like they would never let go, but when she finally drew back slightly, Éponine’s eyes were red and puffy and her face was wet with tears, and Cosette was sure she was just as bad.

“You’re so beautiful,” she whispered, as if it was a secret, and Éponine laughed shakily.

“So are you,” Éponine murmured. “Fuck. I can’t believe…” She lifted her hand, touching Cosette’s cheek, hand feather-light against Cosette’s skin. “From the moment I saw you, my first thought was how beautiful you were. And then my second thought was how strong you looked. And then my only thoughts were about how _inconvenient_ you were going to be.”

Cosette’s laugh sounded wet and wavering to her own ears, and she leaned into Éponine’s touch, her hand warm and rough and calloused.

“I never expected you to get under my skin as much as you did,” Éponine continued, eyes fixed on Cosette’s. “I never expected to love you. And I certainly never-” her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. “I never expected you to love me back.”

“But I do,” Cosette breathed.

“But you do,” Éponine agreed, and her eyes were oh so warm, and her face was so close to Cosette’s, and Cosette leant in, and their lips touched, and _oh._

Cosette had kissed a grand total of three people in her life (other than her father, and, presumably, her mother).

There had been a boy when Cosette was about seven, who had kissed her and then loudly proclaimed that she was now his wife. She had played along with this, until she and her father had had to relocate again. She hadn’t been too sad to see the back of that boy.

There had been another boy when Cosette was thirteen, who had been sincere and unsure and who’d held her hands and kissed her. She’d turned him down gently, and he’d cried.

Then there had been a girl when she was sixteen. They’d shared several illicit kisses, hidden in the girl’s garden, until the girl’s father had discovered and put a quick stop to that.

This was so much better. Cosette’s knees were aching on the concrete, Éponine’s elbow digging into her side, her ankle twisted at an uncomfortable angle. But it was blissful, Éponine‘s lips against hers, Cosette’s hands in Éponine’s hair. She could have stayed here for ever, kissing Éponine.

But then Cosette heard a noise- cheering, clapping… and she pulled away from Éponine, to look around her… and gasped in astonishment.

Where the staff had been- clocks and lamps and candlesticks- there were _people._

Éponine gasped, a startled breath, and then she beamed, the smile lighting up her face.

Cosette just stared, gobsmacked, trying to work out who was who; trying to match what she knew of people who she’d talked to and knew but had never seen.

 A tall, pale, lanky man was helping a much shorter man with light brown skin and curly hair to his feet, and Cosette guessed at Courfeyrac and Marius, but as the shorter man bounded towards her and Éponine, and the taller man followed at a more sedate pace, she changed her mind on which was which. Courfeyrac was grinning widely, tears on his cheeks, and he reached down for Cosette’s hands, yanking her to her feet and flinging his arms around her. She melted into the hug, feeling her own eyes well up, hugging the man who’d become her friend.

And then there was a cry, and a small boy, looking only about ten at most, with a scar on his forehead, and dark brown skin just like Éponine’s, came barrelling towards them. Cosette and Courfeyrac pulled apart and practically threw themselves out of the way, as the boy jumped on top of Éponine with an incoherent noise. Éponine let out a sound like the breath had been punched out of her, and Cosette thought that it maybe wasn’t just the weight, and she turned away to give Éponine some privacy with the brother she loved so much.

There were plenty of other things to look at, and Cosette looked around at all of the joyful scenes. The spell that had forced the villagers to forget seemed to have broken with the Éponine’s curse, and villagers were tearfully reuniting with friends and family that they hadn’t realised they’d lost.

“Tell me who’s who, Courfeyrac,” Cosette whispered, clutching at Courfeyrac’s hand with sudden nervousness.

Courfeyrac smiled at her, dimples in his cheeks. “Of course,” he said, “this must be so strange for you!”

Cosette nodded, relaxing slightly at his reassuring attitude. He’d been like this as a candlestick too, she thought, and then silently chastised herself- of course he was the same!

Courfeyrac gestured first to two men and a women were near her, hugging so tightly, limbs entwined. “That’s Mushichetta, and Joly, and Bossuet,” Courfeyrac said. “Bossuet’s the bald one, and Joly’s the one with glasses.”

Cosette thought of how much Musichetta had missed holding her boys, and smiled. She’d say hi to these friends after they’d had their time.

Next was Enjolras, a tall man with a mass of curly blonde hair and a long red coat. Cosette was unsurprised to see that he was beautiful, and almost didn’t need to be told who Grantaire was; the shorter man, with dark skin and messy dark hair, staring at Enjolras as if he’d never seen him before. But Enjolras was staring right back at Grantaire, peeking frequent glances, as if the sight of Grantaire was the only thing he’d missed this whole time, and Cosette thought to herself that perhaps Grantaire’s unrequited crush that he’d bemoaned to her wasn’t as unrequited as he’d thought.

There was Feuilly, hugging a villager with hair as red as his. There was Jehan, lithe and wearing bright clothes and crying with joy and relief, and Bahorel, a huge bear of a man who was crying just as much. There were all the people she’d known as objects, freed from their long curse at last.

Courf pointed to a tall man with skin almost as dark as night, wearing spectacles and with a bemused smile on his face. “That’s Combeferre, our dear librarian,” Courfeyrac said, and there was a fondness in his voice.

“Do you want to go and hug him?” Cosette asked, smiled down at Courfeyrac as he looked embarrassed, cheeks darkening.

“What? No! I’m fine, I don’t-”

“Go to him,” Cosette said gently, untangling her hand from Courfeyrac’s. “Life’s too short to be shy.”

He bit his lip, hesitating, and then seemed to mentally wake himself up, nodding emphatically and turning to stride towards Combeferre. Cosette smiled after him, and she was so focused on his actions that she almost leapt out of her skin when someone tapped her on the shoulder.

“Hi,” said Éponine, and she almost sounded shy. Cosette beamed at her, shocked all over again by how beautiful the other woman was. “Gavroche thought that was more than enough affection for one day, he went off to bother Grantaire,” Éponine added, and then slipped her hand into Cosette’s. Cosette couldn’t help the smile that grew even more as she held tight to Éponine. She almost felt like the smile was becoming permanent at this point.

She didn’t think she’d ever felt so happy.

After that, everything happened in a bit of a blur. Her father was there, crying and shaky and hugging her so tight. The woman who had rescued her in the woods was there, and when her father saw her, his face went pale- as if he’d seen a ghost. And before Cosette could ask her father why, could find out what she was missing there, Éponine was calling her, and they were entering the castle, and there was so much to do.

Éponine wanted to have a ball, wanted to start with a happy occasion, with all of the staff and the villagers alike. Cosette was content to go along with what Éponine wanted, because the other woman was practically glowing with happiness and freedom, and that was enough to make Cosette glad.

There would be difficulties, of course. There was Javert, who hadn’t left and was still intent on arresting her father. There was the woman from the woods, there were the villagers who were wary of her father now, there was much to be seen to and to be understood. But right now, all Cosette could care about was Éponine’s beaming smile, her hand tight in Cosette’s.

There would be time later to deal with things. Right now, Cosette was content to stand next to Éponine, the love of her life, and know that there was hope.  


**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/holIyshort) -come and say hi!


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